


Five times they played cool and one they caught fire

by savaged



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Argentina National Team, Community: footballkink2, FC Barcelona, M/M, Portugal National Team, Prompt Fill, Real Madrid CF, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 02:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2635022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savaged/pseuds/savaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fbkink2 prompt: "a fic where Cris and Lio have this crazy, electric tension whenever they meet but the circumstances, or even not being sure if the other feels the same, is what stops them from going for it. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's universally known that it's no good for the catalans when Real Madrid versus Barça matches are played at the Bernabeu's. Mostly because it gives the hosts this pumped up confidence coming from the roaring fans and lets them do whatever they want, like fix their gaze on their favorite player to roast them later, or longingly glare at the new ones reading all the mistakes they're about to make.

It was a day on that time of winter where the lights of the sky fade out to give place to the bright, blinding ones hanging from the crowded tribunes, and 6pm doesn't seem so bright anymore.

Cristiano Ronaldo walked back and forwards watching the tactics deploy, his teammates taking places all over the pitch and yelling at the blaugranas, glaring down on them. They were 1-0 -the men in white winning,- and he was actually relaxed after being dizzy many days before at the sole mention of el Clásico. Cold breeze blew and his skin shivered under the long sleeved shirt wrapped tight around his arms. He wriggled uncomfortable and looked for the ball, caught Sergio running exhausted behind a little player around their area, violating their barriers. Iker tensed in the squared net when the short kid of messy hair ran past the midfielders and shot the ball, speeding and ending inside the place.

Cristiano's gaze collided on the boy. There was generalized dread all over the stadium, high pitched whistles at the celebrating enemy for scoring the goal that took them to a draw.

The rivals jumped on him and rubbed against 'Messi''s body -as the kid's jersey read-, who was panting on the floor with a big smile, barely aware of his enormous success. Just enjoying the present moment, content with having scored that amazingly orchestrated goal, how he easily went past the barrier. And Cris' barrier, as well. He had caught Ronaldo's attention like the portuguese caught Messi's immediate glance past him, overcharging him with unspoken, unclear thoughts mingling rage and young curiosity. He had caught Ronaldo's infatuation. 

How _dared_ he.


	2. Chapter 2

UNICEF has always been the rendez-vous of word-wide known stars, so it shouldn't have been as exciting as it resulted to be to Messi once he was called up for it. His mother cried about it. She said she was so proud of him, and that he should wear that argentine cologne Paco -the one he used when he was like 12,- to the event, and that he should ask his older brother for a borrowed suit.

He brushed his hair that afternoon, called a taxi, and listened to the never ending chatter of the driver, nodding respectfully to each thing he said. He only saw about Iker, Real Madrid, and silent crowds in his mind.

When he saw Ronaldo he couldn't help but smile. He walked up to him, spacing out with the amount of photographers in the room and they greeted conscious of the unequal vibes of confidence, took each other's hands. Cristiano's grabbed his palm softly hovering the back of his hand with his thick thumb, and ran it through, looking at him. Staying on the dimples of his cheeks for maybe too long. Crooked teeth. Silly smirk.

The portuguese looked taller personally, much more tanned under warm lights. He smelled like mint and fancy fragrance, sweet, nothing like home. He smelled of new things. Clean. The suit, the skin, the diamond earrings shining before his dilated pupils. It was like Messi had found his complete opposite. It was Messi's opposite.

The foreign man's spanish was flooded with portuguese slur when he tried to speak about something else than the crazy questions journalists asked about them, becoming Lionel's favorite accent in matter of minutes. Their gazes lingered on each other's, the eyes doing all the touching they weren't able to, their blush becoming present on round cheeks- And one fan present in the event irrupted into the conversation, pushing the two of them far away and accused Leo of betraying Barcelona while speaking to Ronaldo.

His manager explained to Lionel why he couldn't ever see or talk to Cristiano, and the dangers it represented for their whole career. Lionel listened tenderly. All the walls that helped his little person stand up came slowly tumbling down, and the only person he wanted to be near by stood twenty feet away across the room, watching him stare.

(He had the wank of his life once he arrived to his house.)


	3. Chapter 3

  
He was focused on the strawberry bright shade of Cristiano's lipgloss and the man speaking through the microphone with a funny accent while half of the press took note of their words. Every time he spoke, Cristiano shifted his weight from one thigh to the other, deepening and clearing his smooth voice over the desk they shared with Ribery. He sat beside Leo. _Leo_ , whose smirk kept intact, a gentle expression of sympathy through him and over his face, studying the journalists. But under the table a hand kept accidentally sweeping up and down Cristiano's lap. Just like their knees touched, naturally, having their seats arranged so close and being part of a small gathering. They felt each other right there. All eyes on them. A simple sigh and Leo chewed on his bottom lip, Cristiano's fragrance flooding his senses. There was a question for both. Messi looked at Cristiano, then the latter at the first.

"You?"

"No, no, it's okay."

"No, you. Yeah." Lionel stared at him for reassurance. Cris winked. "Take it." 

Lionel bit at his thumb, giggled and smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

Lionel said something. He was wearing a sport's kit with the white and light blue lines of his national jersey, while Cristiano stood by the door of the man's bathroom of the hotel, carrying a bag of ice and a mourn on his face. The flea tapped the floor waiting for an answer. The other man wasn't sure if he should talk.

A hand found its way to Cristiano's shoulder and rested there, the sound of wet lips opening woke him up from his static mind. ' _Cristiano_?'.

Cris shook his head giving a negative answer and stared at Leo.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"My team's on the bus already. I should go."

The younger, shorter man nodded and took the hand that was previously on Cristiano's shoulder to his own head, tousling dark brown locks. So did Cristiano; brought a hand to Lionel's locks. They felt silky and straight, and slightly familiar. He put them apart of his face and tucked them behind Leo's ear, he smelled like aftershave lotion. Something loud yelled at him in the inside. Standing still, he swallowed sharply and embarrassed and took his hand away.

He somehow searched for Cristiano's approval on that matter, something he would have cursed himself for doing any other time. The big eyes were looking back at him with the same curiosity Lionel had seen in his new born kid. He wondered if it wasn't the same Cristiano had over the years now, the one that didn't make him feel like time had passed at all. That helped him fantasize about Cristiano being in his early twenties, time remaining still, youth intact. Because his youth and ancient greek beauty standards remained intact, actually.

"Thank you."

Lionel shrugged and smiled.

"You don't need to. We all lose sometimes."


	5. Chapter 5

He had just invited his coworker to the portuguese table, nothing too complicated. Cristiano (accidentally) poured the whole wine bottle over him. The burgundy liquid spread now through the fine white of Lionel's shirt, sticking his pale skin and the clothe together; the tight black tie around his neck static and soaked in alcohol.

"Wait, I-" Portugal's national team stared back at their captain, Pepe rolled his eyes into the back of his sockets. Fabio covered his face with both hands. "I'll take this" Cristiano shook his head biting at his bottom lip, forbidding himself an obvious smile, grabbing Leo by the shoulder. Lionel stood blank and confused at the same time, letting himself go under Cristiano's lead.

The mirrored hallway towards the bathroom seemed caked by bright blinding lights. Warm, almost red, bulbs emerged above the tall mirrors and fancy black and cream wallpapers, and his hand dropped from the argentine player's shoulder through his arm and fell into his hand and fingers. Beige framed mirrors and more vintage wallpaper, words stirring in Leo's mind making him... Lazy. That's what he called Cris while the portuguese pushed the door tangling his fingers together. He blushed harder, so much harder than the red of the wine and alcohol smell spread across him -Cris' mark. Sabella greeted them there.

"Just came to get changed," and "I was only gonna give him my jacket" were shot at Sabella when all he said was 'hi'. He nodded and finished his business, then waited for Ronaldo and Messi to get out of the restroom, complex seriousness and professionalism written over them. He liked how mature they seemed, at the time.

That night he watched him hold a glass of white wine between long fingers, side glances being thrown blatantly towards him. The huge fancy jacket hanged loose around his shoulders, warm, relaxing like Cristiano's hands were on his shoulders, and it gave him a hard time trying to explain his teammates why he was wearing such thing. And why did he smell like women and alcohol. Or 'worse', why did he smell like the tall douchebag throwing glances past them. He laughed it off, embarrassed, clutching at the pockets of the thing until he felt a small hard round shape under his fingers.

A condom.

He kept quiet, flushed for the rest of the night. No smile.

Kun nudged his elbows into Leo's ribs at some point, telling him to take the jacket off.


	6. Chapter 6

  
He pulled him into his car. It opened with a soft click, and closed with a low snap and there was no way Lionel had seen it coming from behind.

The black vehicle sucked him in like a vacuum sucks an autumn leaf, and no one even saw it, but Lionel didn't bother to yell at all after seeing whose hand it was covering his mouth. They laughed it off, they said hi and the conversation ended very suddenly because there was everything already said in their shared silence.  
Cristiano's Adam apple bobbed up and down as Leo's tie went loose around his neck and the man left the jacket to a side.

"Didn't need to come get it, I'd have sent the damned jacket to your hotel."

"You wouldn't."

They faced each other across the limo's seats. Face to face for the first time after some long months didn't hurt no one, and having each other speak quietly around a private environment was really helping Lionel to get hot.

"Can you get me to my hotel soon? Kun will ask for me if I'm not there."

"Already sent him a message."

Leo nodded. It was turn for his Adam apple to bob up and down. Cristiano shifted from his seat to a side of Lionel, sweeping his own jacket away and tossing it somewhere.

"So where do you wanna go?"

Cristiano was close. Lionel held his breath, conscious of the effluvia emanating of his body related to Cris' trademark fragrance.

"Wherever you want to go. My hotel's first option."

"Don't you wanna go watch football?" Lionel threw him a glare and raised his eyebrow. Cristiano smirked. "I needed to see your reaction, sorry." Leo sighed and licked his lips. Maybe longer than he had wanted. "Worth it, though. Leo, what about going to my hotel? Do you like heights?"

"Um, yeah. Are you sure?" At this point the eyes of the argentine grew big. He stayed silent, playing with his thumbs and Cristiano watched from inches away. He put his arm above Leo's shoulders, resting it on top of the back of the seats, and brought their lips together, giving no time for Leo to react. So he enjoyed tasting him for a bit, catching his bottom lip between both of his and trying to get to open his mouth. The next second he was also feeling Lionel's arm wrapped around his neck, and his panting mouth asking for air, a hug, a pang of confusion and adrenaline, another small kiss. Cristiano held onto him.

-

 

Against Cris' front, they stumbled together into his darkened room with the only sound of an open window, showing a huge part of the lit up city. Lionel stood close to him and after the portuguese latched the door, they came back to their previous fuzzy state of raping each other's mouth until one of them ran out of air.

Cristiano's lips were warm, meaty, full of knowledge about Leo's already tired, thin and shy lips. Hungry, in both of the cases.

The argentine closed his mouth to swallow when he unbuckled Cris' belt, and tasted him in his tongue, heard the clank of metal as he pushed his pants down. Ran his fingers across the tense abs tip toeing for Cris to cup his face between his hands, peck him. The man pushed him around the rooms finding the edge of the bed, and threw Lionel back against cold sheets. His skin shivered. His eyes closed.

Cristiano tried to warm him up rubbing his hands all over him, getting the red tinted shirt off, getting the last sheens of apprehensiveness off of him. But he was blushing as well and panting, and he didn't say nothing except for all those trails of kisses around Lionel's neck and body that lead to small free moans, shaking shoulders, rolling eyes beneath closed eyelids. Leo saw black but sensed himself in heaven. He wriggled trying to find comfort. He heard the rustles of the sheets, the lumps of pillows under his head, Cristiano's short wavy hair under his palm, the mouth of the man on him; he sighed, relieved. When the portuguese came back up Leo clutched to his wide shoulders. They rolled around the bed, pushing and gazing at each other, pressing and groaning like they didn't know their names, no smiles, only friction tangled in a mess of an unforgivable thing they both had gotten in. And it was wrong and violent, and uncalled for.

And it was wrong.


	7. epilogue

 

  
Leo looked to his side after some minutes, checking on Cristiano's closed eyes and red grapes huffs. His chest bare, his mind clothed by dizziness. He quietly watched him wash away reality with unconsciousness, and the glisten of the skin of his cheeks. Lionel's fingers reached for them. Tears. The ones he had held back so Cristiano wouldn't have to run his thumbs through his face cleaning those away. But Leo did. And Leo pulled thick covers over him, and already realizing all -with no time to memorize the way his ribs expanded and contracted, the relaxation of his face during sleep, the softness of his skin, the shape of his back, the way the bed tousled his hair or the mattress bent under him,- he kissed his forehead.

He didn't even leave a note on his way out.

 

x

 

He did, however, receive a text message in the morning. Saying that he couldn't keep his jacket.

(because there wasn't a way Cristiano would ignore his loss.)

(and there wasn't a way Lionel would ignore his gain.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this work goes for the awesome anon who linked me to the original prompts.. I have to thank you and I don't know how to yet :)  
> Let me know what you think and what you liked/disliked on the comments! It helps me improve a lot!


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